One Night Stand
by Irena K
Summary: So, two Immortals walk into a bar one day...  ::Crossover::


ONE NIGHT STAND

Disclaimer: They belong to Mr. Nightow or Davis/Panzer.

Author's note: The first Trigun fic I ever finished. And ::sigh:: it's a crossover. It now dawns on me that A, this is probably something Vash wouldn't do (ah, OOCness, how we love you) and B, there is no plot. Maybe one day I'll actually get around to writing a Highlander fic that has an actual story. Perhaps. Possibly. When a plot comes along and finally hits me in the head, I'll be sure to let you all know. Oh, and a virtual kewpie doll to anyone who knows who the bartender is.

PG for implied adult situations.
    
    ONE NIGHT STAND

He had been traveling for weeks now. He didn't quite remember where he had been nor what had happened immediately after the explosion. By the time he had come back to himself, he was some three hundred iles north of Augusta, his coat and bag streaked with dirt and grime, a full water bottle by his side. How he had come by it, he had no idea.

He kept his head down, looking at few people as he wandered into town, shoulders hunched up, glasses firmly in place hiding his remarkable blue-green eyes from sight. He felt the stares of the townsfolk on his back and could only pray none recognized him. He knew he was in trouble, knew that whatever had happened in Augusta had been devastating, but also knew he couldn't afford to stop now. The other one was still out there, somewhere, ready to kill everyone on the planet if no one was there to stop him. And no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he had a sinking feeling he may be the only who could do so.

He approached the nearest saloon and paused by the door, knocking the dust off his boots before he entered. It was darker inside, the only light provided by fading sunlight that filtered through the windows. Sporadic groups of men and women sat in clusters at the farthest corners of the room, half-hidden in shadow. On the left a small stage was set up. A man sat on a stool in the middle of it, playing melancholy blues on a six-sting guitar. The bluesman's eyes flicked up momentarily to take in the new customer before sliding away to concentrate on the music once more.

He walked slowly up to the bar and sat on a stool, letting his bag fall idly to the floor. The barman didn't even speak to him, instead taking out a bottle of whiskey and a glass and setting it down directly in front of him. He looked up in surprise into a pair of light hazel eyes placed above an impressive Roman nose. "What's this?"

The barman shrugged. "You looked like you could use it."

Before he could say another word, the barman turned and began to clean some dirty glasses, marking an end to their brief conversation. He stared morosely at the bottle before sighing and pouring himself a glass. He swallowed it in one go, the drink burning all the way down. He started to pour himself another glass when a voice spoke up.

"Got a light?"

He turned and found a beautiful woman standing next to him. Black hair fell straight to rest on her shoulders while wide brown eyes stared brightly at him above a pert nose and full lips. She wore a masculine suit and waistcoat that had been tailored to show off her shapely legs and not inconsiderable bust. At her side, he was surprised to see not a gun, but a sword in silver and steel, the last light glinting off an immaculately kept hilt.

"Well?"

He glanced away from the remarkable weapon as she presented a black cigarette holder to him. Her hand was long, elegant, perfectly smooth.

"I don't smoke."

Her lips pursed into a small pout. "Oh pooh. And here I was hoping I could start up a bad habit to meet good-looking men."

He blinked at her, then, almost despite himself, felt a small smile on his face. "You think I'm good-looking?"

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a smirk. "Did I say you were? Maybe I was just practicing on you."

"What would've happened if I had taken you up on it, then?"

"Well, let me see," she answered thoughtfully as she hopped gracefully onto a neighboring stool. "I suppose next I would have asked how often you come in here."

She gave him a prompting look, whereas he shrugged. "Never been here before in my life."

"Hmm," she frowned and crossed her long legs. "Well, I suppose I then would've waited until you offered to buy me a drink."

"But, then," he said, leaning in closer to her. "This is all hypothetical."

She closed the distance between them even more. "*Quite* hypothetical."

They stared silently at each other for a few moments before he finally took the plunge and asked her, "So, would you like a drink?"

She gave him a dazzling smile. "Why, darling, I thought you'd never ask."

***

By the time he found himself lead up to the room she rented above the bar, his vision was slightly fuzzy and his legs weren't working properly. It was all he could do not to stumble as she guided him to the bed and fell upon it next to him. He stared up at the ceiling fan that lazily circulated the stale air, almost hypnotized by the rhythmic motion. Round and round and round and round…

She crawled on top of him, blocking his view of her ceiling. He thought of protesting but suddenly her lips were pressed to his and he felt that this was much preferable to watching a fan spin in circles. His arms wrapped around her waist and he sat them up, gasping suddenly and breaking away. She frowned. "What?"

He rubbed the sore spot on his stomach. "Uh, your sword…"

"Oh. Right." She flicked her wrist by her waist and the sword fell to the floor with a muffled clang. "Now, where were we?"

She kissed him again, harder, more urgently and a pleasant heat quickly spread throughout his body, nerves tingling in anticipation and pleasure. He was barely able to comprehend how their coats and boots were able to come off so quickly, but she stayed pressed to him, hands seeking, pushing against him. Before he realized it, she was tugging at his shirt, pulling it off.

"W-wait…"

"For what?" she breathed, warm breath tickling his ear even as she continued to work on his shirt. "A written invitation?"

"P-please," he murmured. "You don't – wait."

But it was off and over his head, joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. She paused and it was enough. He pulled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, bent over, arms hiding the criss-crossed scarring that covered his chest, that traced lines up and down his body. It was difficult enough for him to live with it but he could never expect anyone else to understand it. It was stupid of him to get involved in this situation, he should have looked the other way, should have…

Her hand was cool against his cheek as she guided his face towards her, forcing him to look her in the eye. What he saw there was neither condemnation nor horror but a depth of understanding he hadn't seen since – since forever.

She smiled gently at him. "Now, really, did you think that was all it would take to scare me off?"

She pulled him down on top of her and captured his mouth again, hands light against his body, words no longer necessary as they let their bodies do the talking from that point on.

***

They lay together afterwards. She was pressed to his back, arms wrapped around his chest, head by his shoulder.

"You're far away," she murmured, breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"Yes, exactly." He couldn't see her small smile but knew it was there. "You were thinking of someone else."

He turned slightly to look at her but again, there was no accusation on her face. "It's alright. Tell me."

He turned back and sighed. "There was someone."

"Long time ago?" Her finger traced a line from his temple to his chin, her light touch soothing.

"Yeah. But now, I think, there was maybe another…" he trailed off, the mixed feelings towards the friends he had so recently left behind churning within him.

"You miss her?"

He swallowed and unconsciously clenched his left hand. "I shouldn't."

She snuggled closer to him, arms tightening around him. "Why not?"

"It's…dangerous for her to be around me," he admitted. "She shouldn't get hurt because of me."

She didn't answer immediately and as he listened to her even breathing, he wondered if she had fallen asleep. But she finally spoke, slowly, carefully.

"I had a friend once. He was quite afraid for me, for all his friends all the time. He said it was too dangerous to be around him and that we should forget about him. So we'd be safe." She sighed. "But we wouldn't have been very good friends if we had just let him go off and waltz into trouble without us, would we?"

"No," he said softly. "I guess not."

"No," she agreed and again he felt that strange, small smile. "We wouldn't have been."

***

He woke up early that next morning and slipped silently out of bed. She still lay aside, sound asleep. He dressed as quickly as he could but spent some time searching for one of his boots, which seemed to have migrated between the bed-board and wall sometime over the course of the evening. By the time he slipped on his coat, she was blinking awake. She yawned and stretched, gathering the sheet around her. "Leaving so soon?"

"I, uh, have to keep moving," he answered, hitching his travel pack over his shoulder. "There's someone I'm looking for."

"Your girl?"

"No," he shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Too bad," she shrugged. "But if it's something you have to do…"

"It is."

"Alright then." She held out a hand to him. "I'm Amanda, by the way."

He hesitated, then took it in his own. "Vash."

"Vash," she smiled. "That's a nice name."

***

Amanda sauntered down to the bar sometime later and slid onto a stool. The hazel-eyed barman walked up to her. "Your young man left here a while ago."

She sent him a flat stare. "He's not mine."

"Really, Amanda," he shook his head. "I thought you were too old for this anymore."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh, like you should talk. Get me some juice, would you, darling?"

"It's going on your tab."

"Hmph," she cupped her chin her hand. "I think I liked it better when you were on this side of the bar."

"Why? Now I can get all my beer for free."

She rolled her eyes. "And somewhere, Joe Dawson turns over in his grave."

He chuckled and went to fill her order, returning with not only juice but freshly scrambled eggs. She inhaled and sighed contently before attacking the food. The barman remained silent next to her as he wiped down the bar. She was slowly working on her juice when he quietly asked her, "Did he know?"

"About us?" She set the glass down and shook her head. "No."

"How about himself?"

She went still, staring straight ahead for a moment. She turned to him. "I don't think he has the faintest idea."

They let the silence grow, she taking the occasional sip from her glass, eyes distant, he intent on cleaning and straightening up his stock for the day. Finally he said, "He's dangerous."

"So are you."

He sighed. "Amanda, he needs to be controlled. You know that."

"What he *needs, *" she emphasized. "Is a teacher."

She read the thoughts on his face as the words came out of her mouth. His eyes crinkled in amusement as she sighed again.

"Well, I've been meaning to track Duncan down for some time anyway." She suddenly grinned. "You know, he always *did* like a challenge…"

END


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